Shore Leave
by meaninglessmonotony
Summary: My first submission- Femshep. Sovereign has been defeated and the Normandy crew is in need of r&r. Contains ME spoilers and ME2 references. Femshep/Joker, Ashley, Tali, Liara, Pressly, and a few minor OCs. Please comment!
1. Chapter 1

Shore Leave—Segment 1

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Saren was dead. Although the words should have brought her joy, Commander Myla Shepard felt only a cold lump of dread festering in her stomach. The Citadel was safe—but for how long? Sovereign was destroyed (here she felt a small bloom of pride in her smartass pilot who'd fired the final blow) but more Reapers would come. The Council was too busy throwing celebratory parties and begging her to accept commendations to see the truth or they were too scared to face it.

_We have dismissed that claim__._

Anger spiked; she clenched her fists and shook her head. They weren't blind, but they worked pretty damn hard at keeping their eyes closed. Shepard took a deep breath—calm. There was too much official business to get out of the way for her to get emotional now.

Over the next week, Myla Shepard wrote medal recommendations for her team (Alenko's would be presented to his relatives posthumously), scheduling funeral services for those comparatively few aboard the Normandy SR1 who had died, and composing a formal letter of praise and general commendation for Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams to be sent to the Alliance military board. No more crap assignments for her. Luckily, Shepard had even managed to evade nosy reporters (with the exception of Emily Wong, to whom she had given her word).

Finally, after innumerable hours of hacking through red tape and a series of short, secret crying sessions in her personal quarters, she was ready. True, the Reapers were coming, but the defeat of Sovereign had bought the galaxy time. How much, Myla didn't know, but the crew had been through enough. It was time for a little well-deserved break.

She walked up the narrow passage between the command center and the cockpit, responding with a polite nod or friendly smile to every upbeat greeting that the "night" crew tossed her way. No stopping to talk, though, she had made her decision and would follow through before the Council or anyone else tried to send her off on a boring patrol mission.

The end of the walk—a comforting sight. Jeff "Joker" Moreau and his dark blue ball cap was as much a part of the Normandy as the Galaxy Map or the annoyingly slow elevator. She paused for a moment behind the pilot's chair, content to watch the deft movements of his hands as they manipulated the glowing readouts. Then her gaze was drawn to the empty copilot seat and, with a pang of remorse (and more than a little guilt) she remembered the man who used to sit there.

_I had no choice_, she reminded herself, repeating the tired argument that had become her mantra during many sleepless nights. _There was nothing I could do_. The words sounded as hollow now as they had the first time, and in a rush she remembered his shy smile, his soft voice, the way his forehead rankled into a frown at the onset of yet another migraine. She remembered when he'd confessed his feelings for her. She tried to forget the pain on his face when she'd told him that she didn't feel the same, that she—

"Commander? You okay?" Joker's voice, uncharacteristically serious, cut into her thoughts. She mentally shook herself.

"Yeah, thanks Joker," Myla said, bringing a hand up to her forehead, trying to banish the throbbing headache that had suddenly attacked her. He shrugged, sensing that she wouldn't elaborate, and turned back to his glowing consoles. Shepard sighed; she wished sometimes that he would try to talk with her. She placed a hand on his headrest.

"I've been thinking—" She started.

"Uh oh. That's never a good sign." Damn, he was quick. She managed a smile and flicked the bill of his cap so it covered his sea green eyes. "Hey!"

"The Normandy has been on mission for about four months straight. Her crew has been to hell and back. I think we need a little break."

He grinned and punched a hand in the air, "Sweet! Shore leave! I vote we go to Illium."

"You would. Fortunately," he groaned and she allowed herself a smug smirk, "I am the commanding officer, this is not a democracy, and I say we go to…" Her mind whirled and she picked the first planet to solidify in her thoughts. "Altair."

"You're kidding. Altair is the Florida planet—that's where all the old people go to retire."

"And why do they go there?" She prompted.

He heaved a resigned sigh, "Because of the white beaches, dual sunsets, and overall exotic scenery. I think asari are exotic."

"Your opinions, Joker, as always, are duly noted and ignored. Make it so!" She turned and walked away but caught his muttered comment.

"Aye-aye, Picard. I hate when she references Star Trek..."

Her pulse hammered at her wrists and throat. Gods, she didn't ever notice her heart rate going up until she'd left him. Shepard shook her head briskly, dismissing the soft half-formed thoughts. She couldn't afford to be emotionally compromised, couldn't risk her pilot—the best damn helmsman in the Alliance Fleet—becoming emotionally compromised.

_**Bullshit**_**,** said his voice inside her head, _**That was the excuse you gave Kaiden and Liara because you didn't want to hurt them. You're too soft and you know it. You just don't want to be hurt.**_

_Enough_, she told herself, _I can't be distracted from the Reaper threat_.

_**Then why are you going on shore leave?**_ His voice was smug, wry, knowing. _**Why on Altair?**_

_Shut up or I'll tell Chakwas that I hear voices__._

_**She'll put you on heavy meds**__._

_Yeah, well, maybe then I'd get some solid sleep__**.**_

_**Ah yes, but then you'd stop having those dreams**__._

Shepard stopped walking, felt a blush creep horribly across her cheeks. She glanced right, left, making sure no one had seen her behaving strangely. Good. Myla entered her private quarters and logged into her personal terminal.

She had an important message to send.


	2. Chapter 2

Shore Leave—Segment 2

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Joker's fingers danced across the familiar console. The process was automatic, routine, but he still felt a bloom of pride as the ship responded to his practiced touch. No one could fly her like he could. He was the best pilot the Alliance had—that was why he'd been assigned to the Normandy in the first place.

Funny, really, his pride and talent had led to the best assignment he'd ever have and the worst test since flight school. He let his head fall gently back onto the headrest, the place where she'd touched it. He liked it when she teased him—it was that level of casual but genuine respect that had enabled them to become such good friends—but a part of him thought it would be easier if she were as cold and formal as most of his previous commanding officers. And less damned confusing.

Joker scratched his jaw, feeling the scruffy beard that was borderline regulation. Life with Vrolik's Syndrome taught you to think carefully before every literal step, not just throwing your weight around haphazardly like some drunken krogan. While he refused to act that way in general—that stupid disease may hurt him, but it sure as hell wouldn't define him—he did prefer a more cautious approach to relationships. _**Hell**_, he thought bitterly, _**maybe that's why I've had so few**__._

The Normandy entered FTL.


	3. Chapter 3

Shore Leave—Segment 3

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

"Commander Shepard, I—"

"Don't tell me, you're leaving too." Myla smiled sadly.

The slight glows that were the only suggestions of Tali's eyes flickered—blinked. Her slender neck arced back in surprise. "Who else is leaving, Shepard?"

The Commander sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, further mussing her short copper hair. "Garrus told me he'd be going back to C-Sec this morning, Liara wants to continue her Prothean research—she said she might be able to discover more about the Reapers that way—and Wrex made it clear he wants to go to Tuchanka…I think he's going to try to rebuild his people."

Tali bobbed her head in that curiously bird-like quarian manner that had endeared her to all of the Normandy crew (except, perhaps, to Pressly).

"I must leave as well, Shepard," she said apologetically, "I need to continue my Pilgrimage and return to the flotilla to become an adult in the eyes of my people."

Myla nodded and smiled. Giving in to a sudden impulse, she stepped forward and gave the quarian a gentle hug. Tali flinched at the unexpected contact, but then Myla felt a three-fingered hand tentatively clap her shoulder.

"I know your mission will be a success," Myla breathed against the smooth cloth of the dark cowl her friend always wore, "The Migrant Fleet is lucky to have you, Tali' Zorah nar Rayya."

The two drew apart and Tali ducked her head modestly, "Thank you, Shepard. You have done so much for me and, when I return to the flotilla, I will ensure that the Alliance will not stand alone against the Reapers."

Shepard blinked away the burning sensation of approaching tears. So many of the people she had grown to love were leaving or dead.

"We'll stay in touch?" She tried to look severe but failed miserably.

Tali's laugh was punctuated by the flickering white light at the base of her helmet. "Of course, Shepard."


	4. Chapter 4

Shore Leave—Segment 4

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

"Hey Gimpy," Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams dropped herself heavily into the co-pilot's chair, her sleek dark hair falling out of the customary twisted bun. Joker spared her a quick glare for her treatment of Kaiden's old seat, but didn't bother rising to her bait.

Ashley leaned back, arms crossed over the battle-scarred pink and white armor she never seemed to take off. She had a knowing smirk on her face that distorted her usually beautiful features. Joker was determined to ignore her. If she wanted to talk then she didn't need him to act all interested in whatever the hell she—

"What?" He snapped, dark green eyes latching onto her face.

She rolled her own gray eyes and a falsely innocent smile lifted her cheeks, "Oh, nothing really."

"Then get out of my cockpit."

Ashley ignored him, leaning forward and propping her elbows up on her knees. "There's scuttlebutt that says your scrawny legs aren't the only thing that's broken."

Joker was at a loss for words (a rare situation) so he gave her a skeptical look, arching an eyebrow. She grimaced and blushed, eliciting a wide grin from Moreau. She stood, frustrated

"Your heart, dumbass!" she cried, managing to restrain her voice so that the crew maintaining the heat arrays along the corridor wouldn't hear.

Joker kept his face impassive, but his pulse racheted up a few notches. There was no way anyone could have found out, unless…aw, shit. He had a tendency to talk in his sleep. What if someone had been listening in on the odd FTL nap? Still…"I don't know what you're talking about, Williams."

"Bull."

"How could you even find out if I had feelings for someone? Which I don't, by the way," He challenged, confidence growing as he warmed to his subject, "In case you didn't notice, I don't go frolicking around to socialize. The only times I leave my chair are when I need to eat or piss."

"Charming. I have no idea why she likes you."

"She? Who?" He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that the woman had been baiting him. Shit. He tried to cover. "And, 'likes' me? What is this, high school? It's not Liara, is it? She's cute, but she's too much of a stiff for my taste."

"Give up, Moreau, you're a worse actor than an elcor. I know you like the Skipper." He'd never seen such a predatory smile.

"Nope. She's my XO." He feigned indifference, turning his attention back to his consoles.

"Doesn't stop you from staring at her ass every time we leave the ship."

His hands slipped and there was an embarrassingly loud groan as the Normandy listed. Oh…shit. Exclamations of surprise and alarm rang out from the hall.

Joker scowled at Ashley—now doubled up in laughter, tears streaming down her face. "You—"

He was interrupted by the crackle of his comlink. Oh crap. This just wasn't his day.

"Joker, what the hell was that?" Myla's voice was stern but Jeff could hear warm currents of barely restrained amusement in the familiar tones. To his dismay, he felt a blush spread across his cheeks. Shit. Ashley was watching him closely, her dark eyes alight with satisfaction.

"Sorry, Commander," He closed his eyes tightly, "It was an accident."

"An accident?" Oh, God, she was teasing him. "Surely the best damn helmsman in the Alliance doesn't have accidents."

He grinned, no longer caring whether Williams was watching. "Gotta spice it up a bit, Commander. With Saren and Sovereign gone, things were getting' kinda boring. And don't call me Shirley."

She laughed, a nice honest laugh. He liked it.

"I think that the crew deserves an explanation, Mr. Moreau." Her voice was lower, huskier. Was she—? No. Of course not.

"Aye-aye, Commander." She cut the communication. Still ignoring Ashley, Joker activated the ship's intercom. He scratched under his old cap.

"Sorry about that, guys, we uh…hit a little…space turbulence."


	5. Chapter 5

Shore Leave—Segment 5

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Myla shook her head, unable to get the wide grin off her face. The Alliance needed more like Joker. Although, if they had more, he wouldn't seem so special, would he? Stupid question. He'd always be special to her.

She was alone and in her quarters so she permitted herself a small sad smile. Commander Myla Shepard of the Alliance, survivor of the Mindoir massacre and of Akuse. She'd fought mercs, pirates, geth, cybernetically enhanced zombies, brainwashed asari, krogan in the thralls of bloodrage, Saren…so many enemies defeated, but she was afraid of…what? Rejection. The prospect of losing an old friend and a valuable crewmember. Humiliation. But mostly, she was scared to see that smile lose its wry edge, to see his dark green eyes lose their mischievous glint when they looked at her.

No, despite whatever golden, fuzzy dreams her idle mind could cook up, she could not ignore the fact that this was reality—good people were lost, hearts were broken, dreams withered and died like fruit in a blight. Whatever the "could-be", Myla wouldn't—couldn't—risk what she had. Why ruin a good thing?

Still, she wondered how it would feel to kiss him.

Her private terminal beeped softly, announcing the arrival of a message.


	6. Chapter 6

Shore Leave—Segment 6

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

"You're stupid, of course she was flirting." Williams may be hot, but she was annoying as hell.

"Look," he sighed, swiveling his seat to face her, "even if I was…interested in her…in that way…which I'm not!...it wouldn't matter because she is not and will not ever be interested in me."

"Is that what you think?" That damn knowing smile was back. Pissed him off.

"Why the hell would she want me when she had Kaiden?" Shit. That had just slipped out. He'd been thinking it for weeks, hating himself for his envy, his cowardice, his creeping self-pity. Hating the fact that he resented a dead man and a good friend.

"What are you talking about?" Ashley's sculpted brows knit together in confusion.

"You didn't think I knew?" He gripped the chair arm so tightly that his knuckles turned white, "The whole ship was whispering about them! Liara cried for three days! Every time he looked at her, he…" Joker slumped back in the chair, suddenly tired and sad and ashamed, "He just glowed."

"Joker," Ash's voice was serious and surprisingly gentle, "Kaiden loved her. But she didn't love him."

"What? But—"

"Why? I don't know. But she never felt anything other than friendship for him." She had settled back into a more passive, thoughtful position.

"Oh." Joker passed a hand across his eyes. They were quiet for a moment, Ashley gazed outthe viewport and Joker could only guess at her thoughts. Then, something occurred to him and he hesitated, not wanting to disrespect Alenko. "If, uh, she didn't want a guy like Kaiden…why in the hell would she want me?"

Ashley looked him up and down critically. "Personally, I'd pick Alenko, hands down…no offense. But, hey, we're all different. Anyway," she got out of Kaiden's chair and started sauntering away, "Don't waste the shore leave getting drunk."

"Thanks, Chief, real encouraging!" he yelled after her.

He went back to the consoles, shaking his head.

"Shit."


	7. Chapter 7

Shore Leave—Segment 7

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

The Normandy had docked without a hitch in Veerna, the largest city of Altair. Shepard stood before her assembled crew, posture military straight but with an informal smile. She could tell they were eager to go, but protocol demanded that the commanding officer go over the standard Alliance shore leave regulations. She did so and, as an afterthought, told them where to find her should "anything come up". Pressly, Chakwas, and select members of the engineering crew were staying behind initially—that took care of the onboard personnel requirements. Right.

"Dismissed," she smiled, "Enjoy."

Outside, she walked briskly, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sweet scent on the air. It was spring here in Veerna—the frjotl trees were in full bloom and the fragrant guazy petals of their flowers floated thickly in the breeze like flurries of cream-colored snow. The clean wide streets were filled with a bustle of people—humans, salarians, asari, turians, and even the odd batarian—wearing bright clothing. No armor that she could see, no guns or lurking gangs. Nice.

The streetcorners held variety markets and Myla bought a shama fruit from a vendor. She tossed it in the air once, admiring the gleam of the afternoon light on its dark blue skin, and caught it deftly. A tremenduous weight lifted from her shoulders and she sighed contentedly. Whatever trials awaited her tomorrow and in the years to come, today was hers.

She bit into the shama. The familiar texture was smooth, similar to that of an Earth peach; the dark red flesh was sweet.

"Commander?"

Shepard jumped at the soft voice, nearly choking on the shama. She turned.

"Sorry to startle you, Shepard," Liara's smile was genuine, if sad, "I was merely attempting to get your attention."

Myla swallowed hurriedly, "No problem, Dr. T'soni, did you need something?"

The pretty young asari hesitated, her long lashes casting slight shadows on thedusting of freckles covering her nose and cheeks. "Not really, I just wanted to tell you that I did not plan on returning to the Normandy."

"You're staying here?"

"For now, perhaps," Liara shrugged, "I had planned to leave when we next made berth at the Citadel, but this planet is so beautiful. It's as good a place as any to start my next steps, whatever they may be. Better, in fact," she added, indicating the dreamily clouded sky with an elegant sweep of her arm. Myla nodded. She extended her calloused hand and Liara gripped it with her petite blue one.

"It was an honor working with you, Liara," Myla said warmly, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you, Shepard," Liara lowered her crystal blue eyes, "I—I apologize if I made you feel…uncomfortable. Before."

"Oh," Shepard felt a little of the old weight settle back upon her shoulders, "No, it—I…you're like my little sister." She winced inwardly; that hadn't sounded like she meant it to.

Liara laughed, "Shepard, I am older now than you will ever be."

"Not in proportion to the lifespan of your species," Shepard clarified, smiling awkwardly. They started walking together.

Liara nodded and a sly grin found its way onto her innocent features, "I do not believe that was your only motivation."

The Spectre studied the sky intently, watched the swirls of pale lavender cloud curl and drift in inexplicable patterns. "I hope you don't think that I'm racist or—"

The young asari laughed again, "You? You've filled your ship with half the alien races of Citadel space. No, Shepard, I believe you were unable to give your heart to me, or, for that matter, to the Lieutenant, because you'd already given it away."

Myla groaned, "I'm that obvious?" Why did everyone seem to know about her…infatuation? She felt a small stab of panic. What if he knew? What if he knew and was too embarrassed to tell her he didn't—

"Well, I am a perceptive asari, after all. Why haven't you confronted him?"

The marine sighed, "It's not that simple, Liara. First of all, there are strict regulations against fraternization. I'm also his superior officer—if it got out there would be a terrific scandal,maybe even a lawsuit or a courtmartial. I don't even know if he likes me in that way—if he doesn't, I could offend him or at the very least make him uncomfortable with me. I…I don't think I could work without him as a friend."

That sharp panic seemed to swell, constricting her chest, and she closed her eyes. She was stronger than this. She didn't need Jeff's humor, his smile, his sarcastic input…but she wanted it. Liara touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Shepard," she said quietly "I do not pretend to fully comprehend your situation—I am, as you were too polite to say, a child in the eyes of my species—but, before I go, I should like to offer my advice."

"I welcome it, Liara," Shepard shook her head hopelessly, "I'm shit with this stuff."

Liara stopped her, turned Myla around to face her. Her intensely blue eyes were serious. "Your species is short-lived. Humans in the military have…even shorter life-expectancy. I believe you should take the chance. Think not of what you stand to lose, but of what you stand to gain." One last sad smile, and Liara had turned and started down a sidestreet. _But I have so much to lose and I'm losing a little more every day__._

"We will meet again, Shepard," she called in farewell. Myla stood for a moment, alone on the busy street with her thoughts, then slowly took a bite of the shama fruit.


	8. Chapter 8

Shore Leave—Segment 8

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

He hated the damn braces. Hated how they shone and clicked when he wore them outside his pants, drawing as much attention as his limp. Hated how they pinched and bunched the material, how cold they felt against his skin when he wore them underneath. Of course, he hated breaking a leg even more.

So he wore the damn braces. And used the crutches. Actually, although he'd never admit it, he kinda liked those. The grips were warm and wrapped with leather strips, the supports were perfectly fitted, and the sensation of liftoff (especially when he went fast when no one was looking) was the closest he could get to flight outside the cockpit. Plus, it felt good to move, like scratching an itch or stretching out a sore muscle. Hedidn't exercise much beyond the easy swimming regimen Chakwas had prescribed as physical therapy, so "walking" was more enjoyable than he let on. At least, it was when he was alone.

He was reminded of the benefits of solitude each time he intercepted one of those sappy "I pity you" glances. Screw them and their pity. Vrolik's wasn't going away, he'd accepted that and still made a point of living the way he wanted to…for the most part. Shepard hadn't given him that patronizing bullshit—she knew what he could do, what so many others couldn't. Stuff their pity, he had the stars.

Thankfully, the people on Veerna didn't seem to notice him beyond the cursory "Oh, there's a man on crutches wearing a cap, I think I'd like some ice cream." It was nice. Shepard did good choosing Altair.

Shepard. Was it a sign of her borderline paranoia that she gave them a contact address, or was she just lonely? Probably the former—"be prepared" seemed to be her motto and her glass was always half-empty or contaminated. He should just find a bar and drink himself into further inanity, like he did every shore leave. Yet Joker found himself asking a local for directions (another rarity, he usually preferred to wander around lost until he found someone he recognized) and limping down the spotless streets towards the residential area.

Late afternoon. The hot golden primary star had broken free of the smothering purple clouds and flirted painfully in his eyes. Ouch. Damn sun. He scanned the housing structures, as much to look for identification as to avoid the glare. Free-standing houses were rare these days, outside of isolated colonies, and he found he liked the smooth, white curving walls and low sloping roofs that formed the individual homes.

Many of the inhabitants had tried to personalize their yards. Gravelly bed of shaped rock in the manner of ancient Zen gardens, luridly bright flowers, batarian statuary carvings, and so on. He scoffed goodnaturedly. Space suburbia. He winced when he came down a little too hard on one leg. Shit. Better be careful—breaking a leg on the first day of shore leave would suck misshaped Krogan—_**here we go**_.

It was rather nondescript aside from the two large alien trees that arched gracefully on either side of the walkway. The bark was smooth and cool when he laid a hand on it, a dark gray with silver veins, and the braches were high and heavy with waxy green leaves and swollen blue fruit. Why would she be here? He thought her whole family had been wiped out on Mindoir.

He moved to the slick entryway and pressed the buzzer. Old-fashioned, whoever lived here. A thought occurred to him, too late. What if she had a boyfriend (or worse, a husband!) and this was his house. Joker's stomach clenched with emotion he couldn't quite identify.

He was imagining a blushing Shepard in the embrace of a tall stranger when the doorport hissed opened and…and…shit. The first thing his brain registered was that she'd changed into civvies. The dark green shirt she was wearing was in no way regulation-conforming. A good thing, too. If she was running around the Normandy in _that_…space turbulence…might be a frequent occurrence. And those pants were the same black as her on-ship "casual wear", but these showed curves no lieutenant should notice in his commanding officer. He didn't know she could look like that.

When she answered the door, her head was turned, copper hair spilling across the graceful curve of her neck, laughing at something behind her. Joker watched her turn to him, saw shock register in her dark brown eyes, mouth parted slightly. Her cheeks flushed and one hand jerked uncertainly to her neckline.

"Jeff!" She exclaimed in surprise. Joker grinned awkwardly and touched the bill of his cap with a forefinger in an informal salute. _**She used my real name.**_

"Ma'am." He felt suddenly embarrassed and cleared his throat unnecessarily, "I, ah…oh, nevermind." Shit. He turned to go. _**Coward.**_ He hated himself.

"Myla, who is it?" An older woman who looked extraordinarily like the Commander appeared from behind her. Shepard shook her head quickly and a bit of the familiar military commanding officer returned.

"Aunt Georgia, this is Alliance Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau," she said briskly, "The lieutenant is my pilot and…a good friend. Joker, this is my Aunt Georgia."

The woman smiled and stepped forward, hand extended. He noticed her eyes were as gray as rainclouds. "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant."

"And you, ma'am." He shook. His gaze was drawn back to Shepard.


	9. Chapter 9

Shore Leave—Segment 9

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

_Oh no, he's looking at me again_. Why did she have to wear this ridiculous shirt? Shepard felt her cheeks redden. _Because it matched the color of his eyes__._ When she had answered the door, she'd thought it would be one of the neighbors or…she hadn't expected to turn around and see him with that crooked smirk, familiar hat, crutches tucked comfortably under one arm. He'd changed into civvies too. A black short-sleeved shirt and old-fashioned bluejeans made him look healthier than the old uniform. His chest and shoulders were well-defined and she couldn't see the braces he must have worn beneath the jeans. He was also taller than she'd thought he'd be, a good three inches more than her.

The shock of seeing him so unexpectedly had sent a burst of adrenaline through her system, pulse drumming in her ears. Then she remembered how low the neckline of this particular shirt was. _Shit._

"Jeff!" she'd said, almost unconsciously. She must look like a…like one of the asari Consort's acolytes! Oh, Gods, what was he thinking? Shit, she'd used his first name. Nobody used his first name. It was somehow taboo, private, not for work use…intimate.

"Ma'am." His voice, as always, was warm and wry but she thought it cracked slightly. What could—? "I, ah…oh, never mind."

He turned. He was going to leave. _No_, she wanted to cry out, _wait!_ But quick footsteps from behind heralded the arrival of Georgi.

"Myla, who is it?" Her aunt's voice was polite, but Shepard could tell she was suspicious of this scruffy albeit good-looking stranger. _Thank you, Auntie__,_ she thought, military mind latching onto the provided purpose. Myla made the introductions, simultaneously composing herself. When he looked at her again, she had regained control.

"Did you need something, Joker?"

He grimaced and shook his head, "No, Commander, I—nothing important. I should go."

"Oh no," exclaimed her aunt, "We were just about to eat. Please stay for awhile?"

Joker hesitated. He raised an eyebrow at Myla. She could tell that he wanted to leave, that he was asking for her help.

"Lieutenant, stay for dinner," she smiled, "That's an order."

He grinned good-naturedly, "Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am." He turned to Georgi. "So, do I call you Mrs. Shepard?"

Georgia had headed back indoors, "If you like, Mr. Moreau. I was her mother's sister. Twin sister. But in front of my husband it's Mrs. Togata." She turned down the hall and out of sight.

Joker looked at Shepard, shaking his head and grinning. "Anyone else I should be warned about?"

"Well," Shepard held the port open for him as he limped over the threshold, "tonight it's a small dinner: my aunt and uncle, my cousin, her two children, and my grandmother."

"Shit." She sensed him wince behind her. "No! Sorry, Commander, I didn't…aw, shit."

She laughed. "It's okay, flyboy, they'll love you. Oh!" She stopped and turned to face him. They were very close—she had to incline her head slightly to look in his eyes. _He could kiss me right now_. She bit her tongue to clear her thoughts, then said, in a low voice, "My grandmother is very old and isn't…always lucid. She sometimes thinks I'm my mother. We've tried treatment, but…"

His green eyes were unreadable, "No problem, Commander, I know all about the failings of modern medicine." He shifted his weight a bit as if to punctuate his statement, but Myla saw a shadow of pain flit briefly across his face. Knowing better than to offer assistance—he'd only be embarrassed and offended if she did—Shepard led him down the hall and into the dining area.


	10. Chapter 10

Shore Leave—Segment 10

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

He carried the crutches awkwardly down the hall, following Shepard at a polite distance. Joker tried to ignore the sway of her hips as she walked, focusing instead upon the dark wood paneling of the corridor. But his eyes were drawn back to her, time and again, and so he noticed a certain…anomaly. On the Normandy and on military business off-ship, she moved with a catlike grace, a fighter's fluidity and confidence, but here, in the home of her kin and wearing the flattering civilian clothing, she seemed more timid. Uncertain, even. He didn't like that—Shepard was supposed to be confident, a veritable anchor for those around her. She was a goddamn hero (a title she typically rejected but to him and the rest of Citadel space it was a title well-deserved) and if the different clothes and setting made her uncomfortable, he preferred her in armor, covered in grime from the latest mission.

The hall opened into a large dining room that had been humming with good-natured conversation. A wide clean table was laid for seven—no, Shepard's aunt came rushing in from a room beyond with an eighth setting—and the five seated turned to look at the incoming stranger. He took his hat off for the introductions and flattened his hair as best as he could with one hand. He felt compelled to make a good impression, something that didn't happen too often.

Shepard touched his shoulder gently and murmured in his ear. He nodded reluctantly and let her take his crutches and prop them in the corner. The two kids giggled and whispered to each other as he carefully sat down. Damn munchkins.

"Beth," called the elderly lady from the seat of honor at the head of the table. Her face was heavily lined and her eyes were a rheumy blue. Gnarled hands griped the edge of the table. "Beth!"

The Commander stood behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Mother?" Joker saw a deep sadness on her face. He realized that every time she came here she'd be forced to relive the massacre of Mindoir and the loss of her family. He felt a brief surge of anger. Why would she force this pain on herself willingly?

The two exchanged soft words he couldn't quite catch, then Shepard came back and sat next to him. Her uncle, a man with a stern brow but friendly smile, cleared his throat uncertainly. "So, Lieutenant, you're the Normandy's pilot?"

"Yessir," He grinned proudly at the mention of his baby, "Best assignment I've ever had."

"Your Commanding Officer not working you too hard, eh?" The other man winked.

"Oh, she's a bad one," Joker said, straight-faced. He found that he liked Mr. Togata. Shepard loudly protested, but she couldn't help smiling. He'd never seen her so…free with her emotions.

The port at the far side of the room hissed open and warm, delicious smells wafted out from the kitchen beyond.

"Girls!" called Shepard's aunt, out of sight, "Come help me!"

Shepard and her cousin (who took after her father—dark hair and almond eyes) dutifully rose. Joker caught Myla's arm as she moved to leave.

"Um, do you guys need help?" He could tell she knew his offer was only half-hearted by the way she smiled.

"Nah, a clumsy boy like you would only get in the way. Thanks, though." She quickly ruffled his hair and broke his grip gently. Somewhat stunned by the sudden display of familiarity, he watched her leave the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Shore Leave—Segment 11

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Myla kept her posture neutral as she slipped through the port. Why had she done that? True, he hardly ever had his hat off, and his dark brown hair was adorably mussy (shit, did she just say 'adorable'?) but she knew how much he valued his personal space. What if he—no, it was a meaningless gesture between friends. Forget it. _And in front of your uncle, too__._

Aunt Georgia handed her a heavy tub of some sort of vegetable casserole. Staem curled elegantly from the golden surface and she could smell French onions. Her stomach grumbled fearsomely and she was startled to realize that her last hot homecooked meal had been over a year ago.

"Hungry?" Krista, her cousin, gave a wink and a nudge.

"You have no idea," said Shepard dryly, "One of the things they don't tell you about the life of an Alliance soldier is that every ration you consume will taste like crummy little packets of freeze-dried mulch."

"I would've signed up if I knew about all the hot guys," Krista remarked nonchalantly, accepting a salad bowl from her mother.

"And you would've been court-martialed for violating regulations within a month." Myla hoped she sounded careless. A small petty part of her resented her cousin's easy civilian life, her freedom to love, to say what she liked, to have children…Krista was four years younger than her. She dismissed the shallow thoughts, knowing that some people had to pay the price for the happiness of others, proud of the fact that she was one of them.

"Surely not," commented Georgi, just as casually, drawing Shepard back to the not-so-subtle conversation, "I'd imagine those regulations are just to prevent meaningless…"encounters"…not to reprimand a genuine relationship."

Myla shook her head helplessly and headed back into the dining room. "I wish everyone was less damned perceptive."


	12. Chapter 12

Shore Leave—Segment 12

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Jeff watched as the three women returned, all bearing heavy platters of gently steaming food. With a sinking sensation, he noticed that it was all native Altairean dishes. Shit. He'd never been on this planet before, let alone developed a taste for its food. He was a picky eater in general and the sight of foreign delicacies usually sent him scrambling in the other direction in search of a nice, safe burger.

"I didn't know you did 'scared puppy-eyes'," teased Shepard from behind him.

How'd she get there so fast? He laughed uncomfortably, "I don't eat out much, Commander. Smells good, though."

She leaned over his shoulder and served him a large section of the golden-brown casserole. Steam curled up from the broken crust and the dark interior, soft tendrils twisted alluringly over her breasts and exposed neck. Her head was bent, her eyes focused on his plate; he quietly admired the curve of her cheek and the way her hair was tucked absently behind one perfect ear. _**You've got no chance, Moreau.**_

Shepard turned to him, dark eyes glinting, expressive mouth curled into a mischievous smile. "You'll like it. Trust me."

He managed a grin, "I'm not sure that I trust your tastes, Commander."

She bumped his shoulder lightly with her hip as she turned to put a helping of the casserole onto her own plate. "What? You don't like the shirt? And we're off duty, Joker, you can stop calling me 'Commander'…that's an order."

"Actually, I think you look great, Shepard," he said quietly, picking up a fork to poke at his food so that his hands had something to do. He felt vulnerable without his hat.

She looked up from the plates of her—what? Second cousins? Niece and nephew x-times removed?—and smiled. God, she was so beautiful, his heart ached. He wished…

"Beth! Why did you leave me? That bloody spacer could have settled here, but no, Mindoir is perfect for raising a family." The old lady stared hatefully over at Moreau. Georgia rushed to her side, trying to placate her.

"Mother—" but the withered woman cut her off.

" 'Raise a family' you said," she hissed accusingly at Joker, "Well it's been two years and Beth is still as skinny as a pole. Are you two even trying?"

_**Shit. Shit shit shit shit**_, he thought, panicked—Shepard had rushed over to her grandmother, her cheeks flushed bright red. _**Aw, hell.**_ Joker felt himself beginning to blush.

"Look, Mother, rumi casserole," Shepard said hurriedly dumping a sizable piece onto the plate, "Your favorite! Georgi always gets the crust just right."

The elderly woman slumped back and started eating; the twisted fingers that gripped the fork shook. "Thank you, dear." She seemed to have forgotten her anger and her outburst. The rest of the food was served without incident although the awkward silence was painful. Joker tried a bite of the rumi thing and was surprised by the sweetness.

"Wow, this is really good, Mrs. Togata."

Shepard's aunt beamed. Myla—it was weird to think of her as 'Myla' but not unpleasantly so—smiled smugly. "Told you so. I wish the Alliance would let us stock decent provisions."

"Ugh. Those freeze-dried packets taste like—" he noticed the kids listening attentively and changed the word he was going to use, "—ash."

"I'd imagine they'd be willing to be flexible on the matter considering you guys just saved Citadel Space," commented the cousin. Kristi? Christina? He couldn't remember. He wondered briefly where the father of her children was, but knew enough about social faux pas to keep his mouth shut.

"Honestly, I think they'd rather just sweep the whole thing under the rug." Shepard stuck a forkful of some dark stringy meat into her mouth.

"How'd you get hurt?" piped one of the kids, her bright eyes trained intently on Joker's face. "Were you shot?"

He felt an immediate stab of surprise and anger. Shepard choked at his side. The older adults looked shocked but undeniably—he could see it in their eyes and the surreptitious glances they shot towards him—guilty and curious. No doubt they'd been wondering, speculating, since the moment he'd hobbled in. "I wasn't injured."

"But you walk funny," said the boy, pointing at Jeff's crutches in the corner. Krista—he remembered her name now—came out of her shocked trance; she pulled his arm down and scolded him quietly. Joker's knuckles whitened and he clenched his fists. _**You should be used to this by now.**_

"It's called Vrolik's Syndrome. I was born with it. The bones in my legs never developed properly and will always be fragile." He fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice; the mechanical response was so familiar he'd memorized it. Shepard's face was red again, but she didn't say anything. Fine. He didn't need her. He could damn well take care of himself.

Her uncle's expression was pitying, like so many others were, had been, and would be. "I didn't know the military recruited people who…ah…"

"Are crippled?" Joker spat in spite of himself. Mr. Togata looked down. Myla spit something into her napkin and he realized with a start that she hadn't been too embarrassed to speak—she'd actually been choking. He felt a little guilty about that. She stood, her eyes dark and fiery. Instantly she was his Commander again—confident, passionate, opinionated. She was beautiful.

"The lieutenant is an essential part of my team. He's the best pilot in the Alliance. He's the best pilot in Citadel space. He might not walk like you, but he can fly as easily as he can breathe."


	13. Chapter 13

Shore Leave—Segment 13

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Her cheeks stung and her chest ached. She stared accusingly at her family.

"Myla," Joker's hand gripped her bare arm reassuringly. She looked down at him, inwardly thrilling at the way her name sounded when he said it. Dark green eyes were thankful. "It's okay." There was something different in his gaze, something she'd been waiting for. She took her seat again, suddenly self-conscious.

"I don't need or want pity," he said, addressing the room with difficulty, "My condition doesn't affect the way I do my job—it just makes me work harder to be better. I've earned everything I have which makes it worthwhile. I'm actually…pretty lucky."

His hand found hers and held it under the table.


	14. Chapter 14

Shore Leave—Segment 14

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

As if by some unspoken agreement, everyone started eating again. Her uncle gave Jeff a small nod. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. No one mentioned his illness or Shepard's impassioned outburst, and the kids had lost interest in him, asking Myla for stories about her adventures. He listened, amused, as she described the beauty of the Citadel, the quiet vastness of space, and the people she'd met. Joker noticed she avoided talking about the fighting.

Her full attention was diverted to the kids across the table, so he was free to study her. The Commander—Myla—was…happy. There was a glow to her he hadn't seen before and the premature lines on her face, though barely noticeable before, had disappeared. Her hand felt good in his, so comfortable he wondered if she even noticed his loose grip.

Innocently, he bit into some kind of local pastry and gave her hand an experimental squeeze. Instantly, she returned it, harder. He grinned and looked sidelong at her, but the only shift in expression was a slight quirk in her smile.

The aunt and uncle questioned him about current events—his opinion on Anderson becoming captain, etc. He kept his responses polite, direct, keeping any jokes or references private (but it was so hard to let that one about Blasto go). He was surprised to find that he was enjoying this. Well, he gave her hand another squeeze, maybe not _that_ surprised.


	15. Chapter 15

Shore Leave—Segment 15

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Myla was making an effort not to break out into a big, stupid smile, but, judging by the knowing grin on her cousin's face, it wasn't working very well. Oh well. She focused on the kids—Mikay and Leena—and tried to describe the glittering lakes on the Presidium.

"Do they have fish?" asked Leena, her blue eyes sparkling.

Myla smiled, shaking her head, "I don't know, but the next time I'm there, I'll ask."

Jeff squeezed her hand. She remembered watching him fly the Normandy, fingers dancing across the consoles with a grace and skill akin to that of any artist. He certainly had an artist's fingers—long, expressive, slightly wider at the tips than normal. His hand was warm and dry; she hoped hers didn't feel sweaty and that her callouses didn't bother him.

Gods, it had been just days since Saren…and Sovereign.

**Flames flickered in her mind's eye. Rubble and debris were scattered across the once-proud Presidium, the bodies of civilians lying here and there like so many broken toys. Her breath rasped in her chest; she tasted the acrid smoke and Kaiden's words drifted back to her across time and space—**_**Smells like smoke and death.**_

**She'd prayed to whatever higher power there was to give her strength enough to end this, she'd pleaded with Saren, seen him regain his pride, the turian taking his shattered life only to be used like a sick puppet by the Reaper, Sovereign. The black-blue blood of a turian gilded broken glass, the foul oil of destroyed mechanics steamed on the burning grass.**

**Then, whoops of victory over her comlink. He'd shot Sovereign down. She'd disposed of the puppet and Joker killed the puppet master. He should have the damned accolades, not her. But, whatever his rank or his training, he never got the full effect of battle. He would never hear the final cries of the dying innocent, the pleas of those who couldn't be saved. He'd never have to watch a friend get gunned down, feeling the hot blood spatter his face, have to clean his squadmate's remains from scarred and pitted armor. He didn't have to choose. She hoped he'd never have to.**

Myla told Leena and Mikay about the snows of Noveria, the jungles on Ilos, but kept the darker truths to herself. Let them learn from someone else. She was suddenly tired. Shepard loved her family, but she needed to go, to get out. Myla finished the meal, thanked her aunt and uncle, and checked the chronometer. Late enough to be excusable.

"It was really good to see you all again," she said, giving Jeff's hand a final squeeze under the table before pushing her chair back, "But there are other soldiers aboard the Normandy who deserve some shore leave time."

Joker took his cue, pulling on his old cap with a crooked grin, "Thanks for putting up with me, Mr. and Mrs. Togata. Nice to meet you and the kids, Krista." With difficulty, he pushed his chair back and hauled himself up, then limped over to the elderly woman. He gently picked up one of her gnarled hands and raised it to his lips. "A pleasure to meet you, too, ma'am."

She looked up to him with her blue eyes, cloudy with cataracts, and nodded regally. Shepard blinked rapidly. Damned lighting must've…she shook her head and forced a grin, "I don't know what you put in the rumi casserole, Georgi, but the Lieutenant is never this polite."

He turned to her, straight-faced, an eyebrow raised in mock affront. "That hurts, Shepard. I can be gallant and mature when I want to." He limped to the corner with his crutches and took them up under one arm. "Now, thanks again, but it's way past my bedtime." He moved off down the corridor, letting Myla have one last private moment with her family.

After many hugs, tears, and promises to return soon (with fish from the lakes of the Presidium), Myla managed to get out the door. Night had fallen—the sky was a dark dusky purple with wisps of soft lavender cloud, punctuated by thousands of pinprick stars and the three large moons hung like silver-white globes overhead. A slight wind fluttered the dark leaves of the shama trees and carried a light sweet scent.

"Beautiful." Joker had leaned his back against the silver bark of one of the shama trees; he'd pulled his cap low over his eyes so all but the lower half of his face was hidden in shadow.

"Yeah, I love nights on Alitair," she looked away from him, back to the stars.

"I wasn't talking about the night, Commander." He pushed off the tree and pushed his hat back. His green eyes glinted and he walked slowly to stand in front of her.

Myla felt her cheeks burn. _**Well, wasn't this what you wanted?**_ his voice said inside her. "I—thank you, Joker, you look…good yourself."

He snorted, "That's the best you got? C'mon, Shepard, you're a freaking hero, this can't be that scary." He cautiously took her hand again. "I'll help you. 'Oh, Jeff'…c'mon, repeat after me."

She laughed but obliged, nerves singing electrically, "'Oh, Jeff.'"

"'I think you're smart, talented, hilarious—'"

"Oh, so I'm lying now?"

"Hey," He shook his head and touched her nose with one finger, "I tell the jokes, remember?"

Shepard looked into his green eyes, felt her heart beat faster. He moved closer; his finger slipped slowly down from her nose to gently trace her lips. She closed her eyes. _Oh please let him do it_.

There was a rustle and a loud crack and Joker yelped. Her eyes snapped open and she bent her knees slightly, clenched hands into fists, and readied herself to launch into battle. Automatically, she checked the immediate area for the hulking metal forms of geth, the creeping and distorted figures of husks, or the motley shapes of pirates.

"What the shit?"

She looked at Jeff; his hat was askew and he held a hand to the top of his head, scowling as only he could. He looked up to the trees. "What the hell?"

Shepard dropped her "ready" stance. This was no ambush. She frowned at the yard and something on the ground caught her eye. She stooped to pick it up and started laughing.

"What?" asked Joker irritably, hobbling close. She held out her hand to him. Myla was still grinning widely.

"What's that?" He took the dark object, turning it over in his fingers.

"It's a shama fruit."

"Well, hell, even the damn trees want me gone. Don't worry, Ents of Fangorn!" He cried dramatically, "I've taken no wood!"

Shepard rolled her eyes and picked up his crutches, "Let's go, flyboy."

He looked at the fruit in his hands, "Is this thing okay to eat?"

"You're still hungry? Sure, if you want it. They're good—I've always liked shama. She gave him one of his crutches and listened to the crunch as he bit into the fruit. They moved down the little drive and onto the empty street. Myla walked slowly, as much to savor the night as to keep an easy pace for Jeff.

"Mmfph, that's really good," he slurped, surprised.

"Told you to trust in my tastes." Myla slipped an arm around his waist, steadying him. She felt him flinch briefly, but he didn't say anything. Probably because he'd stuffed the rest of the purple shama into his wide mouth.

The street was wide, clean, and utterly devoid of any people. They walked in comfortable silence, sharing their warmth. At length, she noticed his limp becoming more pronounced, and when she heard him hiss in pain, she handed him the other crutch wordlessly.

"Nah, I'm fine, Commander," he protested, but she shook her head.

"There's no shame in it, Jeff. Besides, getting hurt the first day of shore leave would be awful."

He heaved an exasperated sigh and accepted the crutch. With him using two, the movements were too awkward for Myla to keep her hold around his waist. She let go reluctantly.

They had reached the main city. Noise was building and there were more people, brighter lights. Myla could see the Normandy dock looming in the distance and felt her heart sink. Once they were back on board, there would be no more holding hands; whatever they had between them would have to wait. She spotted a little lounge ahead and to the right. The brilliant halogen sign read "Solar Flare".

"Hey," She touched his shoulder and gestured towards the bar, "Do you want to just…hang out for a bit?"

He glanced up to the Normany ahead, and she could see him coming to the same conclusion she had reached earlier. "Yeah," He said quickly, "After you, fearless leader."


	16. Chapter 16

Shore Leave—Segment 16

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

They crossed the street under a bright blue pool of light thrown onto the pavement by a luminescent overhead sign. Myla entered the bar first, pushing the old-fashioned swinging doors wide enough so that Joker wouldn't get hit on the way in and casually enough so that he wouldn't know she'd done it on purpose.

Inside, the club was filled with people of all sorts of species and pigmentation. Blue and purple asari crowded the dance floor or sat with young humans in the dark booths that ringed the edges of the establishment. There was a turian bartender with blood-red markings and several of his fellows formed a small live band in a corner and a few salarians, ranging from bright green to a golden orange, had gathered around the little stage and had begun to heckle good-naturedly about the acoustical fallacies of the arrangement. Curiously, A bright pink hanar floated above the dance floor, tentacles swaying rhythmically, and brilliant phosphorescent patterns pulsing on its slick skin.

"Wow," remarked Jeff from behind her, "This place is pretty high-end for a little planet like Altair. I'd hoped for something a little more exciting, though."

"You're just disappointed that they don't have asari strippers."

He laughed, "Low blow! Totally below the belt, Shepard. Would you really expect me to look at another woman…thing…whatever when I'm with you? No, wait, don't answer that."

"You want to get a drink?" Myla's pulse was racing. She didn't drink or go clubbing very often, but the beat of the music made her feel like taking chances.

"Yeah, sure," He put his crutches up under his arm again. Myla thought that must get annoying after a while, but it seemed automatic to him. They grabbed two adjacent stools.

"What'll you have?" The turian's two-toned voice made him sound doubly bored. Joker ordered a simple shot of something amber while Shepard scanned the gleaming rows of bottles and weird narrow tubes. She hadn't really been exposed to much alcohol before so she decided to just go with whatever looked the prettiest.

A tall blue drink caught her eye.

"Um, could I have," she squinted at the small label, "a Serrice Ice Brandy?"

The turian nodded curtly and went to fix their drinks. Joker laughed.

"What?"

He adjusted his cap and shook his head, still grinning.

"What?" Myla asked again, getting worried. "Is it really strong? I'm not much of a—"

"No, no," He waved away her anxiety dismissively, "It's just…that's Dr. Chakwas's favorite drink."

"Really? The Romulan ale?" Shepard grinned incredulously. The sober doctor hardly seemed the type to drink.

"Yep," he nodded, smiling to acknowledge the reference, "Bones has a whole bottle hidden in the medbay."

Their drinks arrived without ceremony and Myla took a hesitant sip. The brandy was smooth, with a dark, fruity tone. Still, the alcohol was a little strong. She put it down, wrinkling her nose. Joker threw his back professionally.

"Do you drink a lot?" He looked comfortable on the barstool, crutches leaned neatly against the counter, but his face had settled into tired, resigned lines.

"Used to. Then I found out one tends to fall on one's ass rather heavily and rather often when drunk." He half-grinned at her, "Took me a couple times to figure that out."

"Never quite saw the appeal, myself."

"Oh, it's loads of fun. Especially when you start singing—"

"What're you drinking, beautiful?" A leering man who smelled distressingly of beer and sweat leaned uncomfortably close on Shepard's other side. He was obviously older than either of them, with a sad wet comb-over that failed to mask the sheen on his balding head. _Oh, great_.

Joker appraised the man skeptically, dismissing him with a smile and a rueful shake of his head. "The poor slob's drunk."

"What was your first clue?" She rolled her eyes and shifted closer to Jeff.

"When he called you 'beautiful', duh." He smirked and raised his hands to show he was kidding.

The man placed his hand on her shoulder with difficulty.

"C'mon, sweetie, lemme buy you a drink," he slurred.

"No thank you," Shepard gently but firmly removed the offending hand, "I'm sorry, but I'm with someone." Joker grinned widely at this and saluted the man with his empty glass.

The petulant frown was accompanied by an unflattering splutter, "Aw, I'm not fallin' for that."

He tried to touch her again, and Myla fought the desire to break his pudgy arm. "Sorry not interested."

"Hey," Jeff leaned over the counter to catch the drunkard's eye, "She said no. I suggest you leave before she turns you into a pretzel."

"Leave us alone," slurred the man, wobbling uncertainly, "This ain't got nothin' to—"

"Look," Shepard swiveled to face him directly. "My friend and I would like to be left alone. I don't want to hurt a civilian, but it's late and I'm losing my patience."

"I don't buy it," insisted the man. Shepard sighed and turned to her pilot.

"Jeff, I don't want to resort to violence, this guy is just pathetic."

He leaned closer, tucking a length of copper hair behind her ear. "Well," his voice was low, slow, and warm, "You don't have to. As far as I can see, there aren't any damn trees in here to throw fruit at us and I haven't seen a crewmember since I left the ship, so…"

She looked into the familiar green eyes. _What if_—she didn't care. Myla moved decisively to the edge of her seat, feeling his hand slip behind her neck, beneath her hair. She reached up, turned his hat backwards and kissed him. He was warm and tasted bittersweet and his beard scratched at her cheek. She lost herself in the kiss and didn't even hear it when the drunk fell over behind her.


	17. Chapter 17

Shore Leave—Segment 17

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

They were kissing—more, she had kissed him. Joker felt his heart beat harder within his chest; he wondered happily whether the drumming would crack his ribs. Shepard _did_ want him. She moved against him and he could feel her intensity, but also a sweet tenderness. _**This is real**_. The thought excited and terrified him but he pushed it aside.

The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in his system and Shepard herself was like a drug. Her touch sent waves of heat throughout his body, her taste was perfect. He breathed in her scent with the desperation of a drowning man coming up for air for the third and final time. She felt…God, he wanted to pull her close, pull her into him like the last piece of a puzzle—her warmth completed him.

_**Enjoy it, Moreau**_, he thought, thumb brushing her jawline, _**good things never last**_.

He met her hunger with his own, but slowly, cautiously. Part of him knew this was a fleeting moment, that once they were aboard the Normandy again, she'd be forced to focus on the Reaper threat. But when it was over, and he had no doubt Shepard would emerge victorious, they'd be free.

_**I love you, Commander**_.


	18. Chapter 18

Shore Leave—Segment 18

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

They broke apart. Shepard grinned and touched her hair self-consciously. Joker sat back and twisted his cap around to the normal position; a wide smile spread across his face.

"If this is what we get every time we save the galaxy, I hope the Reapers get here ASAP."

She knew he was kidding, but shook her head anyway. "Don't say that, Jeff. I want this whole doomsday thing over too, but we have a lot of work to do before we're ready."

He sighed, "Aye-aye, Commander. But when it's over…" She slipped off her stool and hugged him tightly around the shoulders.

"I'll always be there for you, flyboy." She kissed him on the cheek, then jumped away, out of his reach.

"Damn, you're fast," He smiled but his emerald eyes were uncharacteristically worried, "You better not be a pansy and die on me. I'd never talk to you again."

"Oh please," She took another mouthful of that drink, wincing slightly at the heavy taste, "I'm Commander Shepard. You just worry about not flying the Normandy into any asteroids and we'll be fine."

"Don't get cocky, Commander." They jumped guiltily at the familiar voice behind them, turning to see Pressly, still in uniform and standing ramrod straight.

_Oh shit, did he see_—_?_

"Hey, Pressly," Joker grinned casually and signaled the bartender for another shot.

"Lieutenant," Pressly nodded curtly at the younger man and took the seat on Shepard's other side. Myla sighed inwardly, regretting the loss of her private time with her favorite pilot, but smiled politely. Pressly wasn't a bad guy, he was an excellent soldier, but his xenophobic sentiments had made her uncomfortable.

Pressly ordered a drink from the turian barkeep and rubbed wearily at his temples. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you, Commander. I contacted the address you gave me, but they said you'd already left."

_Did they mention Joker?_ She nodded, motioned him to continue. The bartender came back with both drinks.

He shot an irritated glance over her shoulder at Jeff, who looked innocently at an empty booth across the room. Pressly turned his gaze down to the counter, his fingers rotating the cool glass absently. "You…opened my eyes. When you brought all the…aliens onboard, I mean."

Shepard raised her eyebrows in surprise but didn't say anything; she heard the solid clunk of Joker's glass hitting the countertop. Pressly closed his eyes.

"At first I hated them—the aliens. I didn't think the Normandy should become a…a zoo. I thought of the aliens as freaks, thought that they'd betray us for their own races, but…as time went on…"

Joker was staying quiet, suspiciously so. Myla forced herself not to turn to him. She could see this confession was hard for the proud Pressly, and truly appreciated it.

"But then I saw what the aliens were really like. The, uh, quarian girl. Adams said she'd been really helpful down in Engineering. The turian's work increased our energy efficiency by eighty-percent and that asari was always polite, helpful, and knowlegable. She helped us kill her mother, for godsakes!" He shook his head, "And the other alien—that krogan. He was able to let go of a cure for his people's sterility. They fought for you, Commander. As hard and as well as Williams or Alenko.

"So then I thought that the aliens weren't all that different from us, from humanity, maybe. Then I saw the cleanup of the Presidium—countless salarians, asari, turians, elcor, even volus, hanar, batarians, and the odd krogan helping other aliens and humans alike. And then I knew that we weren't just…aliens and humans…we were all just people."

He quickly threw back his drink, grimaced, paid the turian, and got off his stool. "Thanks, Commander." He saluted crisply. "For everything."

He turned to go, but cast a doubtful look over his shoulder at Joker. "You, uh, want help with him, Commander?"

Myla looked at Jeff, who was humming off-key and stacking his empty glasses in a pyramid. _Oh crap_. She rolled her eyes, "No thanks, Pressly, I got him."

He left, shaking his head.

Joker's hat was askew, his green eyes narrowed in concentration, his tongue stuck out a little. It was oddly cute, but she could sense impending disaster as he unsteadily raised the last shot glass to cap the pyramid.

"Okay, Joker," she said firmly, catching his arm and rescuing the shot glass, "Let's go."

"Aw, Mom," he complained happily, "I was almost *hic* done."

"Why did you drink all those, anyway?" She paid the bartender for both their tabs, picked up Jef's crutches, and helped him off his stool.

"I took a solemn oath," he slurred, slinging an arm comfortably across her shoulders, "every time Pressly said *hic* 'alien'…I took a drink."

Shepard shook her head helplessly. They made their way onto the street, Shepard supporting most of his weight. He hummed contentedly and nuzzled his head against hers.

"At least you're a happy drunk."

"Yup, yup, yup…only with you, though. You make me happy."

"So," Myla felt a warm smile spread itself across her face, "You mentioned something about singing?"

Joker stopped walking and looked at her sternly. The overall effect was somewhat diminished due to the fact that he was a little cross-eyed. He poked her nose firmly. "Nope. Not that easy, Shep. I will be humiliated *hic* in my own…" He lost his train of thought. Myla smiled, leaning her head against his. "What was I saying?"

"You were telling me why you won't sing to me."

They reached the ramp leading to the Normandy's docking station and Myla regretfully shifted her charge to a more professional distance. Joker grunted and accepted a crutch, his hand brushing hers.

"Oh yeah. Well, I figure…gotta keep up the suspense."

The hatch hissed open and they stepped inside, waiting for the blue decontamination scan.

"Suspense? Why?"

He grinned, "To keep you interested." The blue light hummed on, and a grid of brilliant luminescence crawled slowly across their forms. Shepard moved in front of him. She searched his face, suddenly serious, his green eyes sad and sober. Her heart ached sharply.

"Why would you…? Why me?" He didn't flinch when her hand came up to trace his cheek, jaw, to caress the back of his neck and to touch the surprisingly soft hair at the nape of his neck, just beneath the old cap.

"Because," she said the first thing that came to her mind, "You make me happy."

She pulled him close, into a simple hug and a soft kiss. She wanted this last moment to last an asari lifetime, but soon—too soon—the light clicked off and an artificial feminine voice announced the end of the decontamination scan. Myla stepped away from him awkwardly, lowered her gaze to the metal beneath her feet as the inner airlock opened.


	19. Chapter 19

Shore Leave—Segment 19

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Joker shuffled forward in the mess "breakfast" line, head hung low to avoid the painfully bright fluorescent overhead lights. _**Shit**_, he thought groggily, _**I should've used a different buzzword**_. He tugged his cap firmly down in a further attempt to shield his too-sensitive eyes and snatched up a stupid Styrofoam cup from the arsenal along the buffet-style table.

There wasn't much point in the set-up, there was more variety in the coffee than the designated meal. There were three basic provision packets: a savory kind, usually chosen for "dinners" or mid-shift snack; a sweet-flavored one, typically breakfast; and a bland packet for people into culinary masochism. They all had that pleasant consistency of a meringue cookie which, combined with a general tofu-taste, had incited several civil rights protests on all major planets with Alliance affiliation. Actually, they were kinda like…what was that old book? Joker picked up one of the comparatively tasteless packets, his frown now based on concentration instead of pain. Fuzzy-footed little people…_The Lord of the Rings_! Yeah…lembas bread. That was it.

He allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. The gleaming coffee dispensers were initially agony to look at but gave off a heavenly radiance of warmth as he drew closer. He filled the cup with steaming black liquid. Joker hated coffee, but hopefully the caffeine would help his hangover.

He settled heavily—as heavily as Vrolik's would allow—into a seat at an empty table in the far corner of the mess hall. It wasn't that he was unsociable, he just didn't care for people much. He closed his eyes, let the steam from the coffee caress his face. He could still see her, taste her, feel her. Jeff absently opened his "breakfast" packet and broke off a piece. The provisions always tasted dry and unpleasant, but they each contained approximately one-third of all the proteins, vitamins, minerals, and rainbows that the quacks around the galaxy claimed was required daily by the human body. Moreau wondered idly what the non-humans aboard the Normandy ate and whether they were meeting their daily nutritional values.

"Good morning, Gimpy." Ashley slid gracefully into the chair opposite him. She was wearing the casual Alliance-issue shirt and pants (thank the monotony of the elcor! He could not deal with the pink and white this early in the morning), her sleeves were pushed up, and her makeup was flawless.

"Oh shit, you're a morning person," grumbled Joker, holding up the Styrofoam cup to block her smirk, "I should've known."

She ignored him, clasping her hands together, propping her elbows up on the table and leaning forward conspiratorially. "So, how'd it go?"

"What?"

"Shore leave. Anything interesting?"

"I'm hungover."

"Anything interesting?" She repeated.

He grunted into the coffee cup, took a large swig of the scalding liquid. Shit. Bitter as hell and it burned his tongue. Just because Williams had encouraged him to go talk with Shepard didn't mean he owed her anything. He wanted to keep the time he'd spent with the Commander private, to savor it by himself.

The gunnery chief sighed theatrically, "I guess I'll go talk to Shepard myself. We'll have a little 'girls chat', just the two of us."

"Real mature."

"Maybe even a sleepover. Pillow fights and everything." She got up to go.

"Take pictures." He grinned in spite of himself. She flipped him off casually and left the mess hall. Joker took another, more cautions gulp of the coffee and grimaced at the taste. He kinda liked Ash…annoying jarhead that she was.


	20. Chapter 20

Shore Leave—Segment 20

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Shepard rolled reluctantly out of bed. She'd forgotten how good it felt to sleep-in and her little bed was really warm in comparison to the coolness of the climate-controlled room. She arched her back, felt a comfortable pop, and leaned into a calf stretch that burned deliciously. Mmm. Myla threw on her "about-ship-casuals" and left her cabin, not bothering to make the bed. Suddenly, she felt confused, unsure of where to proceed.

Her stomach growled like a Husk and she placed a hand over it self-consciously. _Mess hall it is_, she thought, and strode forward purposefully. Inwardly, she was still thinking about the previous night—especially that first kiss. She rounded the corner and slammed heavily into someone. The force of the collision sent her staggering back against the wall, but she recovered quickly, looking to her victim who was groaning on the floor.

"Ash! Are you okay?" Myla knelt by her friend, automatically checking for injuries. Williams waved her off, laughing as she stood.

"Jeez, Commander, you're not a tank! I'm fine, thanks."

"What the hell were you thinking? Careening around like that…" Myla helped the Gunnery Chief to her feet, concern replaced by what Garrus had referred to as "maternal lecture mode". Williams shrugged.

"I always jog back from breakfast. I've never hit anyone before." She looked at Shepard critically.

"Sorry…ah," Myla blushed, "I was preoccupied."

"Oh!" Ashley perked up, grinning slyly, "With what? Or should I ask 'with whom'?"

Myla shook her head stubbornly, lips curving inexorably into an involuntary smile.

"C'mon," Ash grabbed at her arm and pulled her towards the elevator, "You can't keep secrets from me, Skipper."

"No, Ash, I'm hungry." Myla protested, prising her arm free and moving back in the direction of the mess hall. Williams started to pout, but a flicker of…what?...flashed across her face and was smoothly replaced be a resigned smile before Shepard could question her on it.

"Okay," the other woman walked by her side into the large noisy room, "I'll go with you."

Shepard opened her mouth to interrogate her friend, but lost her train of thought when she caught sight of a hunched figure at the table in the corner. His back was to her, but she could tell by the tense set of his shoulders that Joker wore that petulant grimace he'd used so often when taking a verbal lashing from Anderson. She smiled and shook her head. Ashley pulled her forward to join the food queue.

"You said you were hungry, Commander," she said evilly, "You can ogle later."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chief," Myla tore her gaze away from Jeff, focusing on the unappetizing stacks of provision packets, "You're bordering on insubordination. Keep it up and I'll have you thrown in the brig."

"Why, Skipper," Ashley clutched at her heart, "I am shocked and appalled that you would threaten an innocent friend—"

"You? 'Innocent'?" Myla grinned and shook her head, "Ash…"

"Okay," the other woman promptly dropped the charade and elbowed Shepard's ribs, "But I demand full disclosure."

"About?" Myla deliberated over the packets, steadfastly resisting the urge to look over at Joker's table. Williams heaved an impatient sigh.

"C'mon, Shepard, you and the lieutenant. It's obvious you like him and vice versa."

"I—Ash—" Myla stammered, glancing around to check that they weren't being listened to, "Regulations—"

"Oh, screw regs," Ashley flapped a hand dismissively, "We're marines. Soldiers. Fighters. We have a shorter life-expectancy that a salarian. You're Shepard the Mighty. You deserve a little fun."

Shepard rolled her eyes, "Fun? I shoot techno-organic zombie drones to relax."

"There's more than one way to blow off steam." Ashley grinned provocatively.

"Wha—? No!" She felt herself start to blush, "What we have—it's not like that."

"So you move slow?" Ash puzzled over coffee selections.

"Yeah…you could say that…" Myla shifted her weight uncomfortably; she tried to think of something—anything—else to talk about, but Williams had caught the scent.

"Do you mean-? No, you're a…?" To her credit, the Gunnery Chief seemed genuinely embarrassed.

"Yeah." Shepard busied herself with her coffee, pouring copious amounts of sugar and powdered milk into the steaming brown bitterness. "It's not a big deal, I'd just rather wait."

"Okay," shrugged Williams, "I guess that's better than—"

"Let's change the subject," interrupted Shepard, her ears, cheeks, and neck burning.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" They walked towards Joker's table.

"Anything else." She'd die if Ashley continued their current conversation in front of her pilot.

"Deal." Ashley's voice was gleeful. Shepard spared her a suspicious glance. Sometimes the woman seemed outright sadistic.

"Hello again, Gimpy!" chirruped Williams brightly, sitting across from Jeff. The only seat left was close and to his right. His back was still to her, so she slid awkwardly around behind him.

He sighed irritably, "Look, Williams, I don't feel much like talking right now."

"Why not?" Myla asked innocently, settling into the hard plastic chair.

Joker jumped and turned to her voice, "Oh hell, Williams, no fair. Disqualified for double-teaming!"

"You don't sound happy to see us," pouted Ashley. Shepard nervously rotated the warm coffee cup in her hands. Williams seemed to want them to get together, but Myla thought her methods seemed more destructive than beneficial.

"Well, 'us' not so much," he gave Shepard his usual crooked grin, "but I am happy to see _you_."

She grinned back gratefully, feeling her heart flutter, "Good morning, Lieutenant."

"Commander." He sat back lazily, shooting a smug smirk over to Ashley, "Hello again, Jarhead."

Ash nodded. "Alright, I got my confirmation," she gave Myla a meaningful look, "We'll talk later, Skipper, no 'buts' about it." She got up, flicked Joker's hat, gripped Shepard's shoulder in a quiet farewell, and sauntered away with her peculiar brand of casual grace.

Jeff grinned and rolled his eyes. His leg brushed against hers beneath the table, and Shepard felt a deliciously cold shiver race up her spine. "That Williams sure is a piece of work."

"She means well," Shepard smiled and scooted closer to him. She was still hungry, but the little protein packet was uttlerly unappealing. He leaned forward, wide mouth twisted into a crooked smile that was simultaneously sad and unbelievably—to her, at least—attractive.

"Don't tell her, but if she hadn't pestered me, shore leave—us, we…might not have happened."

"Why not?" Shepard started fidgeting with the wrapping of the packet.

Joker dropped his gaze to his coffee. "I'm not really the adventuresome type, Commander."

"My ingenious-daredevil-insubordinate-flyboy not adventuresome?" She traced the bill of his cap, gently sliding a finger beneath the brim, lifting it slightly. He caught her hand, his green eyes snapped up to hold hers in a frank appraisal.

"With relationships, I mean." He played with her fingers hesitantly, slowly.

"Me neither, to be honest." Myla let him keep her hand, heart racing again.

"I…what we had was better than I could have hoped for," he curled her fingers into a loose fist, "I didn't want to jeopardize it without…knowing." He raised her hand to his lips. Shepard felt the scratchiness of his beard, the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his kiss. _Neither did I_. She didn't care if anyone was watching now.

"Well," she swallowed, "Now we know. What do we do?"

He laughed, "Nope. You're the superior officer. You make the call. For what it's worth," he looked down into his coffee again, "I think we can make this work."

"No fair, pulling rank on me like that," she joked feebly. He smiled but said nothing, waiting patiently for her verdict. His hand was warm on hers.

Shepard closed her eyes. She'd wanted this for a long time, wanted it badly, but had been too afraid of losing his friendship to make the first move. Now they had a real chance at…what? True love? Her cynical side scoffed, but something small and soft within her ached with hope. But what could they do? Leave the Alliance, find a planet, settle down and raise a few green-eyed kids with the Reapers on the way? No, that would be ridiculous and irresponsible; white picket fences would have to wait.

What if they continued and were discovered? Shepard—and, for that matter, the Alliance—didn't need any bad press right now, and even if she was spared any disciplinary repercussions, Joker would be court-martialed or, at the very least, transferred to another ship. She opened her eyes, and Jeff saw her sadness in them before she opened her mouth.

"I knew it," he muttered with more than a trace of bitterness souring his voice, "Shit."

He pulled away from her, hurt stamped plainly on his face. Shepard reached out to him, her expression pleading. "No, I—just…not now. Let's wait until this whole Reaper mess is behind us."

"A raincheck?" He arched an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yeah, sort of…" She felt suddenly childish.

"Until we've dealt with the greatest threat to advanced organic civilization and life as we know it."

"That's the idea." She sunk back in her seat feeling a heavy depression sink over her shoulders.

He shrugged. "Sounds good."

"What?" She laughed incredulously, "I don't even like it now!"

"Let me blow your mind with some philosophy, Commander," he grinned, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on the tabletop, "Everything worth anything takes time. We may not like it, hell, we may not even be patient enough for it, but that's how it goes."

"Wow, Joker, I'd never have pegged you for an intellectual," she mocked, smiling slightly.

"Eh," he shrugged modestly, "My job consists of sitting in a chair, staring at flashing buttons, and occasionally pressing some. I have plenty of time to think. So…" He extended his hand to her formally, green eyes glinting, "Friends?"

She took it gratefully, shook it firmly. "Friends."

"For now." He raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"For now," she repeated, her instincts suddenly urging her to move away. He didn't let go.

"And when this is over…" He leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

She jerked back, disgusted but laughing in spite of herself, feeling a blush sting her cheeks. He sat back, a wide smirk under mischievous green eyes.

"Where," she panted, managing to choke back her laughter, "Did you ever come up with that?"

"I'm twisted. It's part of my charm."

"But…why?" She giggled helplessly and tried to quiet herself, snorting embarrassingly in the process.

"I like making you laugh. Plus, it's always fun to shock people."

Shepard shook her head and quickly ate the bland "breakfast". She took a gulp of the scalding coffee to wash away the metallic aftertaste. She'd never admit it, but she loved to be teased, loved the squirmy feeling after hearing an off-color joke.

"Commander Shepard?" A shy ensign approached their table, saluting. Myla recognized the girl.

"Blakely," She stood and returned the salute, "Can I help you?"

The ensign's gaze flickered down to Joker briefly and dismissed him just as quickly. "Alliance headquarters have received transmissions indicating geth activity near the Traverse. Hackett has issued orders for the Normandy to check it out and the Council has given a similar directive."

"Great," mumbled Joker, "I guess we have to go save the galaxy again."

"Tell Hackett and the Council we're on our way," Shepard instructed Blakely kindly, then turned to her pilot as the ensign trotted away.

"So much for shore leave," he grumbled, pitching his near-full cup of coffee into the table-side waste receptacle/incinerator. She could tell that he'd been secretly hoping for another night of illicit familiarity and shared his disappointment.

"Maybe it's for the best," she said gently, turning his cap to the side, "The sooner we're off, the sooner we'll be done, right?"

"I hate the galaxy. Why can't it ever just stay saved?" He got up and grabbed his crutches, "I guess I'm off to plot the jump, then. My chief ability and contribution to our little adventures. Wish me luck."

"Break a leg." She smirked as he flipped her off good-naturedly.

He held his arms out wide, "You owe me for that."

She started to check for unwanted eyes, then decided she didn't care. Myla hugged him tightly, closing her eyes briefly against inescapable duty. She sighed reluctantly against the back of his cap and pulled away. "I better go check my equipment." It was a lame excuse and they both knew it but he nodded and left. She watched him hobble out of the mess hall, missing his company already. Oh well. Geth activity was important to investigate, if only as a routine patrol and damage control assignment. They'd get in and get it done in a matter of weeks and then…she smiled. Maybe she'd give some consideration to his offer.


	21. Chapter 21

Shore Leave—Segment 21

_Short Mass Effect Fanfic_

_Setting: Shortly after Mass Effect 1_

_Pairings: FemShep/Joker_

Joker settled comfortably in his chair, easily preforming the complex warm-up routines for lift-off, receiving clearance from Altairean docking officials, and running a final systems check while waiting for the crew roll-call to be finished. He'd done it so many times that the motions had become automatic a long time ago and he grinned contentedly. This was where he belonged—in the pilot's seat, speaking to his baby in ways no one would ever understand, flying the Commander around to various dangerous systems…but it always scared him a little when she went out that airlock or dropped in the Mako. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to take care of herself—Shepard was the most capable person he'd ever known—but there would always be something unexpected, some unknown factor that threw off the mission equation (problem plus Shepard equals success and sunshine). He twisted his mouth, thinking intently.

Waiting had been the safe decision, had been her decision so he'd respect it, but was it the right one? Any random factor could result in her death or his. Any stupid mistake could mean victory for the big metal squids. Was it really wrong or dangerous to grab a little joy and run with it? Ah well…she'd pull through. She always beat the odds and he'd always be there for her. Yeah…love conquers all, and all that shit, right? _**This isn't some sappy holovid**_. He shook his head to dismiss the negative thoughts. He always got a little depressed when he was hung-over. _**And even if it was, she'd never pick you.**_

"Hah!" he hissed at himself, "But she did. So maybe we are in a sappy holovid. I could live with that."

_**The comic-relief character always dies in those vids.**_

"Maybe I'm not the comic-relief character. Maybe I'm the snarky-but-sensitive best-friend-turned-love interest. Or what if I'm the underdog hero who saves the day?" He grinned, liking this tangent, "Maybe I get the girl and live happily ever after, huh? What d'ya think about that?"

The negative thoughts were silent and he nodded confidently, "Yeah…I'm gonna go with that."

He pulled his cap low and became aware of a strange smell. What the…? He took it off entirely and sniffed it gingerly. When was the last time he'd washed it? _**When Dad said it was bad luck to**_. Hm. It really did smell rather rank…several years of constant use tended to accumulate sweat stains and a certain unsavory musk. _**Don't do it**_. His positive mood made the old superstition seem silly and he got up from his seat.

_**You're seriously gonna jeopardize your lucky streak**_? Pfft. They were just going on a routine patrol. It'd be a couple of weeks, tops, and by then his hat would be sufficiently dirty to be considered lucky again.

What's the worst that could happen?


End file.
